Bet
by blueowls
Summary: Brittany x Santana. //"There were a few things that Santana had known about cheerleading before she joined the Cheerios."//


**Author Note:** Freshman year. Reading Girl's Night In would be helpful, but all you really need to know is that Santana previously lost $50 to Brittany in a bet about someone's sexual orientation.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Bet  
**

There were a few things that Santana had known about cheerleading before she joined the Cheerios, like that Coach Sylvester was kind of a psycho bitch, that each upperclassmen Cheerio had a corresponding boyfriend on the football team, and that the reason the football team kept losing was probably because they were too busy watching the Cheerios going over their routines on the sidelines when they were supposed to be practicing.

To be fair, the Cheerios watched the football players as much as the football players watched them, at least when they split the team in two and scrimmaged, shirts versus skins.

What she hadn't known was that falling on packed dirt that masqueraded as the football field _hurt_, that cheerleading was more physically taxing and dizzying then it looked, and that Quinn weighed more then she did.

The last fact made her proud.

The other two just meant that as the Cheerios filed into the empty locker room after practice and began to undress, Santana finally had time to take inventory of all her bruises.

Cheerleaders did not have bruises. Bruises were a sign of weakness. And worse, they were ugly signs of weakness. Although her insane practice sessions were often the cause of them, Coach Sylvester did not tolerate bruises on her performers. Or grass stains, either, Santana thought as she slid the Cheerio uniform top off and examined the back. A long, green streak marred the fabric from when Stephanie had dropped her. Santana balled the top up and let it drop to the floor in annoyance as she rummaged around in the locker for her shirt.

It made Santana look like an idiot when she fell and landed on the field even though it really wasn't her fault Stephanie didn't have the upper body strength to hold her up. Now she'd have to go home and try and bleach it out or something and give herself a massive headache from the fumes.

As Santana kicked off her shoes and searched fruitlessly for the V-neck she had been wearing that day, she heard a voice above the din of lockers being slammed shut and girls talking about their weekend plans. It was a voice that embodied rainbows and sunshine, melted the hearts of all those who heard it, and belonged to the epitome of the stereotype of the dumb blonde.

Brittany.

And she was shouting Santana's name.

God was obviously PMSing today, Santana decided as she finally found her shirt despite her trembling fingers and pulled it to her body just as the blonde rounded the corner of a row of lockers, considering how he was jerking her around like this. Trying to keep her head in her locker and pretend she hadn't heard Brittany wouldn't work, because pretty much _everyone_ in the locker room had heard the blonde calling her name, and even Brittany wouldn't buy that excuse.

So Santana turned to meet her, clutching her shirt to her chest and trying not to think about how she was standing in front of her team member and new best friend in only a bra and a bright red Cheerios skirt.

The only thing saving Santana from wanting to curl up and die right there on the floor was that at least is was a nice bra. V-necks tended to make her look flat, so she had worn her best lacy black push-up bra from Victoria's Secret. But it only earned a momentary glance from the blonde as she made her way to Santana's locker.

"Nice bra," Brittany said offhandedly, and she smiled as she met the other girl's eyes, handing her a lump wrapped in paper towels taken from the bathroom. "I got you an icepack!"

"Why?" Santana asked as she accepted the object. "I mean… Thanks. But why?"

"I saw Stephanie drop you," Brittany explained as she sat down on a nearby bench. Santana turned so that her mostly-bared back was to the locker, juggling her shirt in one hand and the freezing icepack in the other. "And when you hit the ground, even Coach Sylvester winced. And you kicked up this big cloud of dust--"

"Ok, I get it," Santana interrupted, voice terse. How long was Brittany going to keep sitting there? All she wanted was to go home and sulk. "Thanks, Britt."

"Where's the bruise?" Brittany asked conversationally. Santana sighed, turning her shoulder toward the girl so that Brittany could have a better look at the darkening mark.

"Um, for some reason, it's up on my shoulder."

Brittany rose gracefully from the bench. "Oh, do you need me to help you? I can hold the icepack on it if you want."

"No!" Santana said more loudly then she had meant to. Flushing, she scrambled to find a reason that would stop the blonde from trying to help further and at the same time make up for the smile that was quickly dimming. Santana slid her shirt back on as she turned her back to Brittany, now rummaging through her locker for her jeans. "I mean, no. I'm fine. Let's just get dressed and get out of here, ok? We can get ice cream. I'm really hungry."

"Oh!" Brittany said excitedly as she leaned against the locker next to Santana's, biting her lip in an adorable way that would be forever ruined for Santana once she met Rachel Berry. "Let's bet!"

"About ice cream?" the other girl asked incredulously as she made a shooing motion with her free hand. Brittany turned around with a sigh as Santana quickly slid out of her skirt and began to yank her jeans on.

"No, stop thinking with your stomach, Santana. Let's make a bet."

"Ugh, fine!" Santana agreed, now dressed and peering at herself in the small mirror stashed in her locker as she let her hair down. Running her fingers through it a final time and sitting on the bench, she asked, "What's the stupid bet?"

"I bet that whoever I kiss will kiss me back," Brittany said triumphantly, turning around so that she was once again facing Santana and cocking her hip. "What do you think?"

Santana had been in the process of tugging her shoes on when Brittany had announced her idea. Now, staring at the laces in her nerveless fingers and feeling half-nauseous and half-jealous, she refused to look up at the blonde.

She'd pick Finn, from football. Of course. They were equally matched in attractiveness and popularity.

Probably in IQ, too.

Santana winced, ashamed that she had even thought it. With guilt clouding her judgment, she looked up and decided that no matter how much it hurt, she'd play along with Brittany's inane game.

"That's not fair, Britt," Santana said as calmly as she could. "Anyone would kiss you back. They'd be insane not to."

The blonde appeared to think for a moment before perking up again. "Well, then. That's why I've spiced up the bet!"

Santana arched an eyebrow. "How so?"

Brittany only smiled and turned to a nearby locker--which was coincidently the one right next to Santana's--as if she had only now remembered that it was hers and that she should be getting dressed if they wanted to leave on time. When she began to take out her clothes and lay them on the bench, Santana's heart leapt to her throat.

Oh, crap. Brittany was totally going to undress in front of her.

Feeling like an enormous perv, Santana used all of her self-discipline to will herself to look at the ground, or Brittany's locker door, or even at the ceiling, no matter how obvious that would be. Just not at Brittany.

But concerning Brittany, her self-discipline meant nothing.

Out of the very corner of her eye, she saw a flash of white and red as the blonde pulled her top over her head. Biting her own lip, Santana sighed and tried to concentrate on her shoes instead. _Tried_ being the key word.

"I bet you fifty dollars that whoever I kiss will kiss me back, and that person has to be a girl. _And_," Brittany added as she drew out the word to too many syllables, as if those restrictions weren't already hopelessly daunting, "It'll be right here, in the locker room."

At this, Santana had to look up. She was temporarily distracted by her friend's fantastic abs before she noticed that Brittany had turned toward her, the ever-present smile on her face brighter then ever.

"In the girl's locker room?" Santana repeated, sitting up straighter. "That's suicide, Brittany. And not even social suicide. Like, _real_ suicide. They'll kill you."

The politics of girls' locker rooms was a minefield for any female, let alone one harboring bi-curious inclinations in a small Midwestern town. Santana knew from experience. Looking was allowed between militantly heterosexual girls to comment on a cute bra or an ill-hidden hickey, but even then, if a gaze settled too long on another girl, vicious whispers arose.

Touching was out of the question, and any shred of same-sex attraction was brutally attacked and the perpetrator shunned. Everyone loved Brittany, but gaying out in the locker room, the straightest of straight bastions, was taboo.

Brittany held out her hand, prepared to shake and make the bet official. "Come on, Santana. This'll be easy."

"Um, easy for me to earn fifty bucks, I guess," the other girl said, shaking her head in disbelief. "And I am not betting on that. It's a stupid idea."

Brittany shrugged carelessly as she turned back to her locker to finish undressing. "I'm doing it whether you shake or not, and I'm still going to ask for fifty bucks when I win."

Santana was torn between two options: leave so she wouldn't have to see it, which would more then likely give away her true feelings, or pretend a nonchalance she really didn't think she could pull off at the moment. She could stand Brittany kissing a guy, because she couldn't really blame _that_ on the blonde. But if she kissed another girl? That would kill her, to know that Brittany would kiss another girl, but not her.

"Just… don't get hurt, ok?" Santana warned her, crossing her legs primly and looked around. "Christ."

Brittany seemed to take an extra-long time to dress. Santana assumed it was to let most of the Cheerios leave before she attempted anything, which was probably a good idea. And so Santana trained her eyes discretely on the other girls in the locker room, trying to pick out the one Brittany would probably go for as they trickled in small groups out the door.

Eventually, the locker room was suspiciously absent of anyone but themselves and one other girl, and then two things happened at once.

As Santana was glaring at the girl's back, the girl slammed her locker shut. Now dressed in a low-cut top and dark jeans with her hair down, Brittany glanced coolly over her shoulder at the sound, expression unreadable as the random girl flipped her phone open and headed for the door, texting as she walked. Santana watched her go, unable to look away from what would surely be some sort of kamikaze mission on Brittany's part to kiss her as she walked out.

The girl made it all the way out of the locker room, the double-doors banging shut resoundingly behind her.

Santana turned to look at Brittany, trying to keep her jaw from dropping. Brittany had made the bet, and now she wasn't going to do it? Was she _trying_ to give her fifty dollars or something? Not that Santana was complaining, but if Brittany didn't understand the rules of betting then it wasn't really winning.

"She just left," Santana said loudly, motioning toward the door. Brittany shrugged, hands on her hips.

"I know."

"But what about the bet?"

"I said I'd kiss someone in the locker room," the blonde said, moving to stand in front of Santana. The other girl unconsciously leaned back away from Brittany, uncomfortable, confused, and trying not to get her quickly-rising hopes up, because if this was a joke or she was misunderstanding, she was probably going to cry.

"But, Brittany," Santana said slowly, meeting the other girl's blue eyes, "I'm the only other person in the room."

Brittany straddled her lap, resting her knees on the hard bench as her arms slid loosely around Santana's neck. Whether it was unconscious or she had simply lost all control, Santana didn't know, but her hands went to the other girl's waist, steadying Brittany as she pressed up against her. Brittany dipped her head, fingertips brushing along the curve of Santana's jaw as she tilted the other girl's chin up and looked her in the eyes.

"I know."

And then she closed her eyes, pressed her lips to Santana's, and kissed her.

When they broke apart several minutes later, Brittany flushing a bright pink and Santana breathing heavily, the blonde rested her head on Santana's shoulder, nuzzling absentmindedly at the side of her neck as she breathlessly asked, "Guess what?"

Santana shifted, pulling a willing Brittany closer. "What?"

"You owe me fifty dollars."


End file.
